Healing the Wounds
by SHansen
Summary: Two months after Mary's death, Sherlock finds himself in the hospital. John, who has not yet forgiven him for what happened, comes to visit.
1. Chapter 1

**_Warning for spoilers:_ ** This story picks up after The Six Thatchers. If you have not yet seen the episode (what are you doing here? Watch the episode instead!), you should probably stop reading.

Remember that this is written before The Lying Detective has even aired. It will of course not fit into the rest of series 4, unless by some crazy coincidence.

 ** _Summary:_ ** Two months after Mary's death, Sherlock finds himself in the hospital. John, who has not yet forgiven him for what happened, comes to visit.

* * *

 **Healing the Wounds**

John walked briskly through the hospital halls and found a teary Mrs. Hudson sitting outside the emergency room.

"Oh, John." Mrs. Hudson got out of her chair and closed the gap between them. When she leaned against him and wept, John awkwardly patted her back for a few seconds. Something unpleasant tugged at him on the inside. He placed his hand on the elderly woman's shoulder to encourage some distance. She pulled away a little and looked at him.

"How – how is he?" John asked.

"I don't know." Mrs. Hudson put a shaking hand in her bag, pulled out a handkerchief and held it to her nose. "He has been in there for a long time, he –" She broke into tears again. John let her cry.

It took another minute before the landlady could continue. "He got shot, John. He got shot again."

\- o - o - o - o - o -

"Sherlock? Sherlock, dear, can you hear me?"

 _Mrs. Hudson._

"He's not waking up."

 _Wake…_

"He still needs rest, Mrs. Hudson."

 _John?_

"Let's go. I'll get you home."

 _Don't…_

…

 _Footsteps._

 _Door._

…

 _Gone._

\- o - o - o - o - o -

The cab ride to Baker Street was very quiet. Even the street noises seemed to drown in a pool of emptiness. John was staring out the window without really seeing anything.

Eventually, Mrs. Hudson broke the silence.

"John."

John turned slowly towards the woman.

"I know it's difficult for you, I do. But.."

His glance wandered to some place outside.

"… he is really sorry. He feels terrible."

John sighed. His head dropped.

"Mrs. Hudson. I can't talk about it now."

 _He let her die. Mary…_

He felt a soft touch on his arm. Mrs. Hudson's hand. John looked up at her again.

"He almost died, dear."

Her eyes were pleading with him.

"You need to talk to him. For both your sakes."

\- o - o - o - o - o -

" _From now on, I swear I will always be there."_

 _It's his fault that she's gone._

" _I am a show off, it's what we do."_

 _And that cost her life!_

" _He feels terrible."_

 _Doesn't matter. She's gone. She's gone, and it's your fault! How do you think I can forgive…"_

" _Miss you."_

Guilt washed over him. John shut his eyes at the memory.

 _That's not the same, it has nothing to do with this._

 _\- You made a vow, too._

 _That's not the same, it's –_

 _\- No, it's worse._

John opened his eyes, bolted out of the chair and walked over to the window. A couple passed by on the street, holding hands.

 _\- Mary loved you. She was your wife._

He covered his face with his hands.

 _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Mary…_

He rubbed his eyes, trying to drown out the voices.

John looked out the window again. The evening was quiet in this part of town. A dog barked nearby. A few cars drove by. Otherwise it was silent.

 _At Baker Street it would be different._

It hurt.

 _Don't go there._

 _He still let her die._

An image of Sherlock's face, as he looked at John, appeared. It was how he had looked at him, when Mary died.

 _\- It wasn't on purpose._

 _It was still his fault!_

 _\- And what about your fault?_

Another pang of guilt hit him.

 _\- Do you deserve forgiveness?_

He knew the answer.

 _No._

 _But I'm still angry._

\- o - o - o - o - o -

The first thing Sherlock heard was a quiet beeping.

He struggled to open his eyes, only to be met with a light that made him shut them tight again.

Then a sharp pain followed that made him catch his breath. He moaned.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock opened his eyes at the familiar voice.

"Sherlock, are you okay?"

John stepped closer.

"Fine." Sherlock tried to regain composure. John shouldn't see him like this. Moaning over the pain. Being alive.

"Sure you are," John commented sarcastically and called a nurse.

…

After the nurse had checked Sherlock's vitals, she left. John pulled out a chair and sat down next to the detective's bed.

They looked at each other in complete silence for a long moment.

"I –" John cleared his throat and tried again. "I – I honestly don't know what to say."

Sherlock continued looking at him. Neither did he. He swallowed and let his gaze drift.

"I've been… blaming you for what happened, and…"

Sherlock looked at his friend, who wasn't looking back at him. Instead, he looked like he was having some kind of internal battle.

John continued, "I didn't… want… to see you. I wanted to be angry with you."

"I know," Sherlock said quietly.

John caught his gaze. There was another moment of silence.

"How… how is Rosie?" Sherlock asked, even as he worried that he was crossing a line, and that John might bolt.

"Yeah, she's fine." John cleared his throat again.

Sherlock nodded, relieved.

"Mrs. Hudson and Molly have been very kind and attentive. Not sure what I would have done without them."

Sherlock felt another stab of pain, but not a physical one. He closed his eyes.

"She could use her godfather, when he's feeling better."

Her godfather. Sherlock blinked. His heart pounded as he turned his face to catch John's solemn gaze.

"You sure?"

Sherlock waited.

"I'm sure."

\- o - o - o - o - o -

 _Three weeks later_

Violin music flowed quietly through John's flat. Mrs. Hudson carried a tray of tea and cups into the living room. John followed her, carrying biscuits and sugar. Sherlock danced slowly with Rosie in his arms.

"Oh, she looks like she's enjoying it!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed.

"Yes, entertaining a child is remarkably simple," Sherlock responded.

"Obviously you haven't been here when she's tired. She needs constant entertainment, I've thought of buying a Duracel bunny." John sat down in the couch and watched Sherlock and his daughter.

Sherlock's glance caught his, and John looked away shortly.

The music ended, and Sherlock carried Rosie over to her high chair and sat her down. "There, Rosie." He handed her a rattle. "Remember what we talked about."

"What did you tell my daughter?" John asked curiously.

"Oh, I just had a chat with her about the consequences of throwing one's rattle, when one wants to keep one's rattle."

John looked amused at Sherlock. "You had a chat with a five-month old about consequences?" He helped himself to a cup of tea.

Sherlock could not help smirking. "Actually, that was m-" He caught himself, and his expression changed.

John frowned.

"Well, that was entirely useless," Sherlock tried to smooth over his near-mistake. "She keeps throwing it anyway." He reached for the cup of tea that Mrs. Hudson had just poured.

John sat with his cup in his hands, staring down at it as he took a sip.

\- o - o - o - o - o -

 _A month later_

The rain was coming down heavily, as John and Sherlock ran to get a cab. When they got hold of one, they jumped in.

"Where to first?" Sherlock looked at John.

"221b Baker Street," John addressed the cabbie.

Though lightly surprised, Sherlock kept quiet and simply pulled off his gloves. They sat in silence for the entire drive. Not much was said between them these days. They got along, and John even joined him on cases, like this night, but the tension was still there.

The cab pulled up to 221b, and Sherlock got out.

"Actually, would you mind if I came up for a cuppa?" John asked.

The detective stared at him, astonished.

"Of course – I mean, I don't mind," Sherlock stumbled on his words.

They went inside, as Sherlock gestured for John to go first.

"Mrs. Hudson?" He cried. "Mrs. Hudson, John is here. Can you put on tea?"

There was no reply.

"She must have gone out," Sherlock stated.

"That's alright, Sherlock, I'll make the tea." John started up the stairs, and Sherlock followed him, still bewildered.

Inside the flat, John headed immediately for the kitchen. Sherlock just stood in one spot, looking from John to the living room. Finally, he took off his coat and scarf, and went to sit down in his chair. Opposite him, John's chair was still sitting there, barely used for months. Sherlock looked at it, almost fixated. The rattling of cups brought his attention back to the kitchen and to John. His eyes followed the man, but neither of them said anything.

John brought in two cups of steaming hot tea, one with sugar. He handed the other one to Sherlock.

"Thank you." Sherlock took the cup from John.

John sat down in his old chair and took his own cup in hand. They both had a sip at the same time.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Sherlock put aside his tea and bolted from his chair. "I remembered I had an interesting text from someone earlier; I thought you might –"

"Sherlock."

Sherlock got out his phone, as he continued, "It could be of interest –"

"It wasn't your fault."

John's word made him stop dead in his tracks. He was standing next to John. Slowly, he lowered his tortured gaze to him. John was looking down.

"I know I – said that it was, but…" John let out a deep breath. "It wasn't your fault." He finally looked up at his friend.

Sherlock walked back to his chair and carefully sat down again. For a moment he could not speak, could not even look at John. Then, he lifted his eyes and met John's.

"But it was," Sherlock said solemnly. "It was, I – I – provoked that woman, I – didn't even listen to Mary." His voice was strained. "Didn't stop to think, I just –"

"It still wasn't you," John said. "It was Mrs. Norbury who shot… and Mary chose to dive in front of you." John struggled to get the words out. "It was out of your hands."

Sherlock just looked at him, pain written on his face. "You don't really believe that, do you?" It was a statement, not a question.

John's gaze did not falter. "Yeah, I do."

Sherlock leaned forward on his elbows and brought his hands up to rub his face.

When he looked back up again, his eyes were moist. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry."

John looked down on the carpet, biting his lip.

When he spoke again, Sherlock was shocked at what he heard.

"I had an affair."

Following an uncomfortable pause, John told Sherlock about the affair, how it had started with a bus ride, and how it had ended with Mary's death.

"After that… I couldn't go on." John paused again, looking up at Sherlock. The man's expression was troubled.

They sat in silence for a little while.

Eventually, John rose from his chair. "I should get home to Rosie. Molly must be getting tired of waiting."

Sherlock looked at him and got out of his own chair. They walked towards the door. John put on his jacket. Then he looked at Sherlock for a moment. Neither said anything.

John turned and took a step out of the flat, but then stopped and turned back to Sherlock.

"I wouldn't mind stopping by tomorrow," he said. "To look at that case you mentioned. With you, obviously. Not on my own."

Sherlock's troubled expression softened. A corner of his lips turned slightly upwards.

"Of course."

"I'm probably bringing Rosie."

"Good."

John turned around again and walked down the stairs.

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. As he heard the door open to the street, he walked over to the window and pulled away the curtain. He watched as John crossed the street. A mixture of peace and sadness filled him.

He stood there until John was out of sight.

* * *

So, this is the end of the story for now, though I might write an epilogue or another chapter, who knows.

Please let me know what you thought!


	2. Epilogue

Epilogue to Healing the Wounds.

I have tried to match this epilogue not only with my story, Healing the Wounds, but also with the episode, The Lying Detective. I thought the episode was exquisite, by the way!

 **Epilogue**

True to his word, Sherlock often stopped by just to check on John and Rosie. He would carry her around, telling her stories. Stories he had heard. Stories he had been part of.

John shook his head affectionately, watching the two of them.

"Then your daddy showed up, and he just looked at me. The expression on his face, when he saw me sitting there with a sheet wrapped around me, was priceless," Sherlock quietly narrated.

"Fine example you are setting for my daughter, Sherlock," John chided him. Sherlock just smiled and kept on talking to Rosie, who was near asleep.

John sat down on his couch and watched them with a smile.

As usual, Mary came to his mind. As usual, it hurt. John's smile faded.

 _Mary might have been here instead of Sherlock._

It was an unwelcome thought, but not a new one. He knew.

 _It is what it is._

A lump started to form in his throat.

Sherlock slowly paced the flat, humming now, trying to get Rosie to sleep.

John leaned forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, hands folded in front of his mouth.

 _Sherlock._

Tears threatened to form in John's eyes.

 _He might not have been here, either._

Suddenly, John had an image of what that would be. No Mary. No Sherlock. Just him and Rosie.

 _If not for Sherlock and Mary._

John rubbed his face, forcing the tears back.

Sherlock walked back into the room. "Rosie is fast asleep. Do you want me to –" Sherlock stopped when he noticed the expression on his friend's face.

John cleared his throat. "Yeah, just put her down here." He pointed to the space next to him on the couch, where a duvet was ready.

Without a word, Sherlock did as asked.

John gently touched Rosie's face.

Sherlock looked down at them, flexing his fingers.

"Well, I think I should be getting back –"

"Stay," John interrupted and looked up at him. "If you don't mind."

Sherlock nodded and looked around. He found a chair in a corner, and went over to it. For a moment, he stood there, but then he lifted the chair up and moved it closer to face the couch. He quietly sat down and looked at Rosie and John. Rosie had grabbed John's finger in her sleep, and he was smiling at her.

John looked up from the little girl and sought Sherlock's gaze.

"How are you doing?" He asked solemnly.

Sherlock looked confused. Stunned.

"I'm… fine," he finally replied.

"I mean about Mary," John pressed on. "About everything."

Sherlock looked even more taken aback. He stuttered, "I – I…"

"You see," John sighed, "I – we – have been so busy focusing on how _I_ felt."

At this, John saw Sherlock open his mouth, but he stopped him. "No, don't. Just… listen to me."

Sherlock closed his mouth and stared at John.

John drew a breath and continued, "You've been here… for me and Rosie." He held Sherlock's gaze, intently. "But I've never stopped to ask you – to think – about how you feel."

The other man looked troubled.

It made John ache.

"I don't…" he started, then drew another deep breath. "I don't want you to think that you can't be… sad or… upset." John studied Sherlock's face for a reaction. None came.

He went on, "What I mean is… you don't always have to think about me. I'm okay. Well, more or less," John sadly smiled. "It's okay." John stopped talking, and waited.

Sherlock seemed to struggle with himself, as he swallowed hard and looked away.

"I…"

John smiled. "You're going to have to say more than "I," Sherlock".

Sherlock's eyes instantly caught John's. Suddenly, he smiled back, and it felt like the tension slowly seeped out of the room.

"Right," Sherlock sighed.

John watched him gather himself, before the man opened his mouth again.

"I'm not okay," Sherlock said.

John felt a pang to his chest.

His friend continued, "I mean, most of the time, I'm fine." It sounded like he meant it. "I'm glad that I'm here. Glad to be with you and Rosie." Sherlock paused and swallowed.

John gave him time.

"But then I – I worry." Sherlock's expression changed. John thought he looked tortured. Exhausted. "I worry that… I can't keep you safe."

The words hit John like a train.

Sherlock went on, looking fearfully at John. "I sometimes have dreams… Nightmares. In which you or Rosie are taken, or worse, and I'm unable to stop it." His voice started to sound desperate.

John ached.

After a while, Sherlock continued, somewhat collected, but his features were deeply furrowed. "I wasn't able to protect Mary like I said I would. Maybe I'm not able to protect you, either." At this, Sherlock looked straight into John's eyes, and his fear shone out of him. His breathing was audible.

John was in shock.

He forced himself to snap out of it. "Sherlock, listen to me."

Sherlock kept his eyes on him.

"You're not some superhero. You can't put that kind of pressure on yourself."

His friend looked down.

"It's true," John insisted. Guiltily, he said, "I know I wanted that from you."

Sherlock looked back up, uncertain.

"But it wasn't right of me," John continued. "And it's not right of you. None of us know what time we have. But right now, we're safe," he assured. "Rosie, me. You. All of our friends. We're okay."

The words softened Sherlock's expression a little.

"We're good. And it's up to all of us to take care of each other. Okay? It's not up to you alone."

John suddenly remembered Sherlock's words from years back:

" _Alone is what I have. Alone protects me."_

Sherlock must have remembered them as well. "Friends protect people," he said.

The corner of John's lips turned slightly upwards. "Exactly."

Sherlock nodded.

John got out of his chair and approached him. Sherlock looked up in surprise as John stopped next to his chair. John placed a firm hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Remember it," he said. "And don't keep it to yourself, if you feel this way." John's expression was both sad and adamant. "We both need to be more honest with each other. Okay?"

Sherlock looked surprised. However, he answered solemnly, "Okay."

John gave his friend's shoulder a squeeze, before he let go. He started towards the kitchen, then stopped and turned.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned to face him.

"I'm really glad you're here." He meant that from his heart.

Sherlock looked at him softly.

"Any time."

And that is that! Thank you for reading. I really hope you enjoyed it.

Lots of hugs!


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